Mortis Dei: The Legion of Chaos
by GBrowland
Summary: Percy Jackson, the knight chevalier of the Legion of Chaos, and its warlord, is on a mission to defeat the awakening Titans and Primordials and defend those who banished him. Mature language, no planned pairings  yet . Different from other Chaos stories.
1. Chapter 1

**[500 years from the proceedings of the Heroes of Olympus]**

A soft breeze rolled through Death Valley, Nevada, making the man shudder involuntarily. He reflected upon his decision to wear chainmail while off of duty, yet decided it was for the best. No telling what he'd find in these rough, spacious lands.

Pulling his wool cowl over his head, he headed toward the distress signal. A signal that could have only been made by one of his soldiers.

As he approached where he thought the signal had come from, he found a small overhang, under which was an artificial shelter. It couldn't have taken long, yet it felt spacious and comfortable.

The man half-smiled, proud of his men, yet wary of what could happen. Only now did the thought that a man posing as a legionnare could have made the signal crossed his mind.

_No_, he thought. _Better not to dwell on such things_. Yet his mind continued to dwell.

A moment later, he made his way into the shelter. A fire lie exposed in the center of the dwelling, bringing warmth and light to the four men huddled beside it. One was stoking the fire with a long stick, and he glanced at the newcomer, smiling somewhat sadly.

"Well, where the hell have you been, Iratus?" He used his friend's adopted name, brought on by his condescending attitude and coldness. The newcomer glanced down his nose at him, yet couldn't resist a slight smile.

"Busy, but looks like I'm in time to save your sorry asses." He pulled his cowl off his head and let his eyes wander.

Several wooden planks supported the shelter's ceiling from collapsing, which, the newcomer decided, would be fatal for its occupants. Besides the one stoking the fire, named Dustin, two men lie wounded, one seeming to be in critical condition, being treated by their second-in-command medic. Walking over to greet the medic, and the wounded, he stopped short when he noticed that one of the wounded, whom he had no prior knowledge of, bore resemblence to... someone from his old life. She coughed, and opened one eye lazily. "Couldn't have asked for better timing. If it isn't the commander himself."

The commander raised an eyebrow, and the girl, who he assumed was either hopped up on fumes, or delirious, chuckled. Her greasy blonde hair fell in a ponytail down her shoulder, bearing even more resemblence to the commander's past. He knelt down and looked to the medic, Keeler.

He shrugged. "Sorry, man, no can do. Unless we can get her back to headquarters pronto, she's done for." The other patient was unconscious, and Keeler checked his pulse. Sighing in relief as he felt a slight knobbing, he turned impatiently back to the chainmail-clad man. "Well?"

The commander, without a real answer, asked his own question. "What happened to them?" His voice was ragged and deep, which gave him an unapproachable aura, even if you get past all of the other qualities. Keeler exhaled, and recalled the story.

According to the battle-worn medic, the team had been escorting a new recruit across Death Valley in search of a land-rip, as the land was a prime area for one to occur.

They certainly found one.

Gaea's Earthborn soldiers had taken refuge in this particular rip, and, sure enough, some unaware soldiers stumbled upon it. "Those soldiers being us, mind you", in case the commander could forget. He nodded.

As they were ambushed, the recruit took a beating, being out of training. One of them, Keeler said, gesturing to the wounded on the floor next to him, a man named Aaron, had attempted to save her life by diving in front of what would have been a fatal blow. "It worked", Keeler recalled, detailing how only Aaron's heavy plate armor saved their lives. After the ambush was finished, they formed this refuge, in hopes of saving the wounded's lives.

"Unluckily for us, the girlie here is dying. Unless you got yerself' sum' sort of SUPER-medic, she ain't got a chance." Keeler gazed into her eyes, and then back to the newcomer. "So? What'll it be?"

The commander gazed into his eyes with a steely gaze, forcing him to look away.

Sheepishly, Keeler apologized for his impatience. The commander dismissed this, and instead walked out of the refuge to signal to some spare medics up in the Domain.

Some minute or two later, he walked back into the refuge, assuring their safety. Dustin sighed in evident relief, and Keeler prayed to every deity he knew that they'd be in time to save this recruit's life. There was no worse feeling, he thought, than losing a patient when you could have helped them.

As they awaited the medics, the commander pretended to nod off on the opposite wall from where the wounded were. He steadied his breathing, and, whipping his cowl up over his short brown hair, he finalized the illusion.

After all, he thought solemnly, someone's got to keep watch, lest a rip open up right next to their shelter.

Nothing as extreme as a rip, but intense nonetheless, the medics rushed in an hour or so later, snatching Aaron and the blonde girl up from their position at the back wall. Dustin and Keeler made no effort to stem their relief as they rushed out of the makeshift shelter, and the commander followed right after them.

The next several hours passed in a blur, from the announcement that the recruit would live, to the hospital closing for the night, though the commander couldn't get that image out of his head...

Blonde hair, ponytail, sarcastic attitude, for a moment the commander couldn't remember her. Then, as he remembered, he forced himself to forget again.

_She was a mistake_, he thought angrily, _I should NEVER have wasted my time!_

**[498 years before the current proceedings]**

After Gaea was defeated, the two camps were finally at peace together. With the help of Jason, Reyna, Piper, and Thalia, the Hunters, the Romans, and the Greeks were finally at peace. Nobody believed that anything bad could happen now.

Nobody except for the Greeks' camp leader, Perseus Jackson.

He would tell Chiron and Lupa of his doubts, yet always get the same reply: "The campers WANT this. Should we deny them rest from their efforts in the war?" What peeved Percy was that he, too, participated in the war, relieving countless foes, including the king of the giants, of their heads.

He boded his time, and found relief in his training. Years passed, Percy is the age of 21, hopefully to propose to Annabeth, nothing could be better, he reflected.

Was he wrong.

He came upon the news that his mother had died of a heart attack, and that Paul was extremely saddened, and wouldn't contact Percy even if he knew how. Though extremely set back by this, Percy yet again found Solace in his training, arguably on par with several minor gods in sword fighting, possibly even Ares!

Yet Annabeth grew more and more detached, and no matter what nice things he would say to her, what he would buy her, nothing seemed to work.

Percy knew what would work. He dug through his dresser to retrieve his newly crafted engagement ring, fired in the forge of Hephaestus, put together as a collaboratory effort from Aphrodite and Athena. It was easily the most beautiful, most elegant thing he'd ever seen, aside from Annabeth, of course.

With her father's blessing, he walked to the Athena cabin.

Readying his nerves, Percy reflected upon all the amazing times he'd had with Annabeth. He would give his life for her, and she knew that. Hell, she was his mortal anchor point to the Styx! Percy knew that he would never love anyone as much as he loved her.

As he thought this, he opened the door of the cabin.

On Annabeth's bed, Annabeth lie almost completely naked under Jason, the praetor of the 12th Legion.

As their gazes found Percy, shocked and completely betrayed, Annabeth rolled to the side, falling off of the bed. Jason, getting over his shock, put on his best act, pretending that he wasn't afraid of him, which he, in all truth, was.

"Happy, Jackson? Annabeth was sad that you weren't paying enough attention to her, so she came to me. As, I'm sure, you can see."

Annabeth was gathering her clothes from the floor in various places, stammering reassurances to Percy, who only felt sadness, betrayal, and anger, no sympathy.

"Weren't paying enough attention, Annabeth? I spent every free minute I HAD with you! I even went out of my way to get your parents' blessings!" Percy was beyond hurt. He had always figured breaking your heart was just a phrase, but he was wrong. He felt as if a hole had been opened up in his chest.

"B-blessings? For what?" Annabeth looked up at him, tears filling her eyes.

Percy looked down his nose at her. "Nothing. Or, at least, nothing of any use now." He tossed the ring to her.

Catching it deftly, she opened it and started openly sobbing, looking up at Percy in disbelief. "Percy, I-I... Yes! Yes, I do!" She stood and leaped at Percy, who pushed her off of him and walked from the room.

"Percy, come back!" Annabeth cried from the doorway, still putting on her shirt. Only now did Percy look back. "For what? Do you think I'd marry you after... that?" He started to see red spots in his vision.

Annabeth slowed. "But, t-that's what you w-were doing... right?" Tears once again filled her eyes, and with no sympathy, Percy spoke back softly, but with an underlying threat that she'd do good to notice, "I was. But not anymore. Have fun with Jason, Annabeth." He walked away again, for Jason to attempt a broad blow at Percy's back.

From years of training, Percy expected this sort of thing, and, truthfully, Jason wasn't exactly quiet. He uncapped Riptide and parried the blow, turning in time to execute the perfect counterattack. As Jason's gladius went to the side, Percy slammed the flat of his blade onto the back of Jason's head, making him see black. Stumbling back, he held his head and winced. Even the simplest blow from Percy felt like a giant slamming him to the side, and he knew what that felt like.

Gripping his gladius in a two-handed fighting position, he charged at Percy, who wouldn't let anger rule his swordsmanship. Deftly rolling to one side, he met Jason's initiative strike with Riptide, and sparks glanced off of the two blades. This went on for several minutes.

A few minutes later, Percy had barely broken a sweat, though Jason was almost on the ground, the arrogant bastard. By this time, a large crowd had circled them, and Chiron angrily walked up to Percy and slapped him.

Feeling no pain, Percy lazily glanced at him. "What?"

Chiron, assuming he had assaulted Jason, sent Percy to his cabin, which was still his alone. As Jason was led to the infirmary, Annabeth tried running to Percy, but he ran into the cabin and slept, fighting angry tears.

In a way, Percy Jackson, the chainmail-clad commander of Chaos's army, second only to Chaos himself, was happy for Annabeth cheating on him. Elsewise, he probably wouldn't be in the position he was today.

Heading to Chaos for a briefing of his new mission, he inspected his new weaponry. Riptide was no longer, broken fighting with Mars Ultor only a few centuries ago. Good riddance, he thought, as he fingered his new sword.

Its name was_ Nox Bipenne_, Latin for "Double-Edged Death." And it lived up to its name. With currently 119,000 or so heads cut off by it, he was proud of his improved prowess with it. A golden-hilted sword, with a diamond imbued into its crossguard, the silver-bladed sword simply emanated death. All who came near it trembled, though, Percy thought, the sword was really rather beautiful. On his back lie a large wooden buckler, roughly two-thirds the size of a wagon wheel. Deep scars were etched into its front, which bore a blackish-grey horned helmet on white background. The shield was really rather indestructible.

Though rather adept at archery and projectile weapons, he preferred to use close-combat weapons, enjoying the thrill of defeating an enemy in close quarters over long distance.

As he arrived at Chaos's office, he knelt to him and professed his last mission's success. He had rightfully led a human-dominant plant, Cragglstya, to victory over the rebels.

"Well done", Chaos spoke, but, like Lupa, he seemed to vibrate his sentences, rather than saying them. "Your victory was glorious, as always. But I give you a very special assignment."

Eyebrow raised, Percy Jackson, nicknamed by his colleagues Hawke, learned of his new mission:

On Earth, Gaea and the Titans are once again rising. Tasked with defeating them yet again, Hawke is to work together with Camp Half-blood, as it was still known, to conquer them and their armies.

A lump in his throat, Hawke thought of objecting, but knew that doing such would lead nowhere, and thus accepted. He just hoped that Annabeth and the others were dead, though that might be too good to be true. They were probably made immortal for their parts in the war.

And with this, Hawke left Chaos's Domain to return to Earth.


	2. Chapter 2

AN: Mortis Dei is Latin, and roughly translates to "Death of the God/Gods", though I do not intend for something of that effect to happen to the Olympians.

Hawke, the mysterious warlord known once as Percy Jackson, arrived at Camp Half-Blood at about 6:30 in the morning. Almost nobody was awake yet, except for the praetors of the Legion, Annabeth, Chiron, and Lupa. From a distance, they seemed as if they were having a casual discussion, but when you got closer, you could tell from the pale and sallow outlines of their faces that there was bad news afoot.

Jason outlined the tennis table with his finger. "So, you mean... The Earthborn, they...".

Reyna, sensing his tongue-tiededness, set forward and spoke for him. "Gaea. Gaea's waking, is that it?"

Chiron, shuffling nervously, sighed. "Yes, children. Gaea is waking, and may or may not be taking some Titans along for the ride."

Annabeth got a lump in her throat, and felt suddenly compelled to look around her. "Kronos too? Iapetus? Hyperion? What of them?" She, as always, was worried for the safety of not only Camp, but also of America and the Olympians, which was certainly a defining factor of her.

Chiron shook his head gravely, and looked up from the floor. "I do not know, Annabeth. Little do I know of the Titans and their ruses, but what I do know... does not reassure me." He inhaled somewhat shakily. The odds were stacked against them against two Titans and their armies some centuries ago, not to mention their near-failure at Gaea's hands; would they survive the upcoming odds?

Lupa, sensing his thoughts, growled lightly, which over the years had come as a source of comfort to the old centaur. He smiled gratefully at her.

A sudden blinding flash of light appeared outside, and those present in the Council Room shielded their eyes. As they walked outside to investigate, they were met with the sight of an extremely muscular man, his torso covered with a thick layer of tightly-interwoven chainmail with a wool jacket, complete with a cowl, over it. His legs were normally clothed, though. Annabeth could catch the sight of the stranger's massive biceps where the chainmail didn't cover, and she and Reyna both couldn't resist their eyes widening. The man had his cowl over his face, restricting any sight of his face above his mouth and bearded chin. A lengthy scar ran across his cheek.

As they got over their amazement, Jason and Chiron readied their weapons, Jason his sword, Chiron his longbow.

"What's your business here, stranger?", Jason asked, somewhat fearfully. Though he was the camp's best swordsman, this mysterious man gave off extremely bad vibes, no matter how Jason tried to counter them.

The man cracked his neck and stared at him ominously, arms crossed. "Business? Why, I'm here to save your pathetic little 'Camp'."

Chiron leaned back in his wheelchair and rubbed his eyes, sighing exhaustedly. "So... what you're telling me... is that Gaea has ben waking for several MONTHS, and we had no knowledge of this?"

The man clicked his tongue, as if to say, 'not my problem.' "If you'd paid a BIT more attention..." He trailed off.

Jason sat up, offended. "Who are you to tell us how to run camp? Who the hell ARE you, anyway?"

Hawke looked to Chiron, who nodded, curious as well.

After a moment's silence, Hawke sighed. "You can know me as Hawke, and I am the warlord of Chaos's Legion of warriors." He leaned back, allowing the news to hit home.

Chiron's eyes widened considerably, and his breath started coming in short gasps. Jason patted his arm impatiently. "What's that mean for us, sir?"

Annabeth answered for him, her voice still carrying the same contempt that it held for the past 498 years. Unbeknownst to the others, the tone made Hawke raise his eyebrows.

"It means, that this man, is one of the most powerful men in the universe, and is offering us help against the giants and Gaea." She looked to him for confirmation and he nodded.

Jason, respectfully, for he didn't want to anger this man, asked what was on his mind. "How do we know you're all that? Fight me in a duel." Hawke raised an eyebrow and looked to Chiron, who nodded, eyes still wide.

Hawke stood up. "If that's what it'll take, I'll do it. But first," he added, sheepishly, "I need some breakfast."

As the hours passed, the rumor had been spread that a mysterious man had shown up in the morning and 'demanded' a duel from their best swordsman. They, expectedly, favored Jason, and were eager to see this duel, which was set to take place at noon in the arena.

Jason and Hawke met at the arena and shook hands. The audience, nearly the entire population of Camp gasped at the stranger, the one named Hawke, and for different reasons. The Ares cabin was amazed at his physique, the Aphrodite cabin at his ruggedness, the Hephaestus cabin at his equipment, so on. This strnager might just win.

Surprised at the lean in favor, Jason looked at the audience, and suddenly felt compelled to threaten the stranger, make him lose his nerves, for Jason himself was quite muscular, though not so much as Hawke.

Mid-handshake, Jason leaned forward. "You're going down."

Hawke let his hand loose and stared in contempt at Jason, and Jason felt suddenly compelled to run, but he held his ground.

Hawke turned and unsheathed his sword and pulled his shield onto his left arm.

At the sight of the sword, the audience seemed to intake air involuntarily. That seems to happen alot, Hawke thought.

As Jason froze at the sight of his sword, Hawke banged his shield and sword together, producing a loud clang noise.

Jason flinched and pulled his gladius and a small metal buckler.

Hawke decided to go easy on him, despite what he had done to him in the past.

As Jason charged, Hawke simply dodged to one side, and Jason's momentum carried him past Hawke, and almost onto the ground. The audience, noticing this amateur move, yelled support for the clumsy swordsman. Glaring at Hawke, he swung with an overhand strike at Hawke's head, his buckler held at the ready.

Hawke parried the strike and countered with the flat side of his blade to the back of Jason's head.

Stumbling back, Jason marvelled at this man's strength and speed, and the counterattack also stirred a memory in him... But he disregarded this, and returned to the duel.

This time, Hawke swung his blade at Jason's legs, and as Jason prepared to hop over it, feinted, and instead jabbed at his chest. Jason, confused and amazed, tried his hardest to block or parry the strike, and barely scraped by, with a cut to his breast.

Wincing, he took on a defensive stance, with Hawke now leading the fight. He swung at Jason's neck, and the praetor knocked the blade out of the way with his metal buckler, but Hawke returned with a backhanded strike as he evaded Jason's swing, almost as part of the same movement.

Hawke decided that it was time to start trying. And this is when Jason truly fought for his life.

Hundreds of years training supported him immensely, yet every one of Hawken's blows jarred him to the bone, even with apparent ease on his part, and he never knew when to expect the next strike. Backing towards the bleachers, he suddenly rolled to the side, yet Hawke seemed to expect even this, and struck Jason's rolling figure with a bone-jarring side kick.

Jason's roll fell apart, and he tossed his sword and shield away, fists up. Hawke raised an eyebrow, but did the same.

This was now a fist fight, and Jason tossed a punch towards Hawke's jaw, who stood still until the last moment, in which he rolled to one side and countered with a punch to the nose that made Jason see black spots in his vision, and his knees turn to jelly. Jason also knew, however, to never back down or show weakness to an opponent, and followed up the strike with what would have been a crushing blow to Hawke's stomach, one fist still protecting his now-gushing nose.

Hawke caught the punch and twisted it around Jason's back, letting him go after a moment. Jason felt as if his wrist was on fire, but he had to continue. His pride, not his body, convinced to keep fighting.

As he stood up, with some struggle, Hawke nodded almost imperceptibly, and lowered his fists. Confused at the fight's direction, Jason almost didn't notice that Hawke was sprinting towards him, arms to his sides, ready to grapple.

Jason, suddenly aware of the battle's direction, became intimidated. Hawke seemed much stronger than him, and could probably injure or kill him. Only now did the thought of failure kick in.

He grappled with Hawke for a good twelve seconds or so, until Hawke overcame Jason's strength and tossed him onto the ground.

This continued for several minutes, the spectators making almost no sound, save for the occasional shout of encouragement to the fighters.

Finally, Jason collapsed, too tired to continue, and Hawke, even after him cheating with Annabeth, felt some sympathy for the blonde praetor, and held a hand out to him.

Flinching, Jason expected yet another blow, but he felt no sting of pain, and looked up to see Hawke, hand outstretched, offering him help. He hesitantly accepted, still wary of an attack on him while he was weak.

As several medics from Apollo's cabin rushed forward, Hawke took Jason's arm over his shoulder, and lugged him over to where the stretcher was.

Hawke was no longer hostile, and he respected Jason's courage and strength. As he helped him onto the stretcher, he smiled and shook his hand, one more time, before they wheeled him to the infirmary.

As he turned, he was met with the sight of a good two hundred campers staring at him in awe, and to relieve his aching fists, he cracked his knuckles and neck.

The crowd went wild. As they swarmed Hawke, Annabeth stayed in his seat next to Chiron.

"I think that this Hawke person might be a very valuable asset to us in the war," she said, eyebrows raised high. Chiron laughed, and voiced his agreement.

We could win, the thought occured to him suddenly, we might just win this war. 


End file.
